


precipice

by coykoi



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a happy ending?, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Is there plot?, Spideychelle, bartender mj, inspired by champagne problems, meet again after proposal rejection, nonlinear storytelling, past Michelle Jones/Felicia Hardy, past Peter Parker/Johnny Storm - Freeform, probably not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coykoi/pseuds/coykoi
Summary: “I thought you were about to close,” he reminds her with that familiar smile and that edge of teasing to his tone.“I’ll make an exception just this once,” she says, cracking two beer bottles open and sliding one over to him as they take a seat at the bar. “Because we’re friends.”Peter’s expression softens, and she knows that look, has loved that look for years, but it means something different now that they’re not together. Still, he clinks her bottle, chugs a few sips, and smiles. She’s missed him. “We are.”or: the process of mj and peter falling apart and what it takes for them to fall back together
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & May Parker (Spider-Man), Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 54
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jsscshvlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jsscshvlr/gifts), [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> happy early birthday jess & seek! <3

Michelle steadily pours liquor into the man’s glass in front of her. His smile is sincere and grateful enough despite the tiredness prominent under his eyes, and she can’t blame him for wanting a drink. It’s late on a Tuesday.

“Thanks so much,” he says, scrapes a hand across his jaw, drops a few coins and a crumpled five dollar bill into the tip jar. She nods and turns around, starts her duty of wiping the counter and the glasses that are getting foggy with age.

The bar is almost barren that night, understandably. It’s a week day, a work night, and no one wants to wake up at five in the morning with a hangover. But that makes it a tedious eight hours for Michelle, and despite being a big advocate for her job, she will always hate long shifts with nothing to do.

Michelle walks over to the sink, squirts soap on her hands, scrubs them hard and fast until her fingers feel raw. She sighs, drips suds onto her shirt when she brings a forearm up to rub her brow.

“You alright?” the same man asks, and when Michelle realizes he’s talking to her, she nods again, offering a small, polite smile. 

“Just a long night. You’re the only one here.” She dries her hands, slings the towel back over her shoulder just as her phone beeps. Absently, she’s relieved at the fact, but something in her gut sinks upon seeing it’s only a set daily reminder to drink enough water.

“Does that mean I should order something else to keep you busy?” His expression isn’t unkind. Almost teasing, flirty in a way, but her lips gravitate into a frown. “If I didn’t have work tomorrow, I would.”

Michelle shakes her head, a halfhearted laugh escaping. She’s not particularly in the mood right now, the only thing on her mind being returning home to her apartment and crashing on the unmade futon with Maisie curling up at her feet. “I’ll take the loss. Wouldn’t want you to get fired.”

“Maybe another time then.” He finishes his drink with one last sip, sets his empty glass on the counter. She watches him fish a ten out of his wallet, hands it over, sticks another piece of paper in her tip jar. “Have a nice night.”

When he walks out, Michelle turns the slip of paper he gave her over in her hands. She swallows after seeing his name and number written down, takes a moment before balling it up and throwing it away without the guilt. There are plenty of other fish in the sea for someone like Brad.

Turning around, she starts dumping the rest of the dishes in the sink, clears tables, wipes them down until the cherry wood shines in the dim light. The clock says fifteen minutes until closing, so she may as well get a head start.

Just as Michelle bends down to flip a chair up, the bell rings and someone walks in, so she turns around, frowns. She checks her phone again, finds that it wasn’t just a water notification but she’d missed a text earlier as well. It would’ve been nice to know.

“Hi. What can I get you? Some four-proof liquor?” she asks, her smile slight but her heart pounding, and he shakes his head, pulls his sleeves down despite it being more chilly outdoors than in.

“I’m not a customer. Unless,” he prompts, and his expression warms into something familiar. “You feel like a beer?”

“We’re closing in seven minutes.”

“I know. I’m just kidding.” But his tone sounds just a bit disappointed. “I thought I’d stop by and see you. Did you get my text?”

“Must’ve missed it. Sorry,” Michelle says, swallows when his gaze drops. She knows he’s been back in Queens for a while, heard it from May first and foremost, but didn’t hear it from him until just now. Twenty minutes ago through two words on a screen. “But, hey. Welcome home, Peter.”

“I’m glad to be home,” Peter responds, folding his lips inward, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t meet her eyes, and the atmosphere is awkward. Tenser than they had left it two years ago. “I...how have you been?”

“I’ve been alright.” She shrugs, letting her smile curl just a little. “I got a cat.”

“You got a cat,” he repeats, his own grin easing up. “That’s great. I know you’ve wanted one for so long. I, uh, I remember how we always talked about…”

Peter trails off, dropping his head, and she wonders why it barely took them any time at all to recount the past. She sees the regret in his eyes, more so at the fact that they have to acknowledge it now rather than just move past it. But they’re adults, and it shouldn’t be as hard as it feels.

They parted on good terms. Better terms than what was expected considering the circumstances, and Michelle thought that they’d remain friends like promised. But then he took a break from the city, traveled with the Avengers, threw himself into the superhero work, and she hasn’t seen him in person for two years.

Michelle had assumed it was part of the healing process. She didn’t question it, but she did wonder if it would’ve hurt him more to stay rather than leave.

“Yeah. We did talk about getting a cat a lot, huh,” she says, quiet, and he nods. Smiles a bit, like he’s happy for her, which is a sentiment she appreciates. “Listen. I know we’re just going to beat around the bush until we say it, right? You and I...we’re good now?”

Peter blinks, and he nods, swallows, runs a hand through his hair. Nervous ticks, but his words counteract them. “Yeah, of course. We’ve moved past it, MJ. We’re good.”

“Great,” Michelle responds, looks down, feels like she needs to relearn the person that’s standing in front of her. They’ve been closer as people than they are right now, but they've been strangers at one point too. This doesn’t feel the same. “How about that beer?”

“I thought you were about to close,” he reminds her with that familiar smile and that edge of teasing to his tone.

“I’ll make an exception just this once,” she says, cracking two beer bottles open and sliding one over to him as they take a seat at the bar. “Because we’re friends.”

Peter’s expression softens, and she knows that look, has loved that look for years, but it means something different now that they’re not together. Still, he clinks her bottle, chugs a few sips, and smiles. She’s missed him. “We are.”  
  


* * *

  
_Michelle blinks, and her eyes burn from exhaustion, from salt, wetness seeping in from the corner, vision grainy. Her stomach has dropped into a bottomless kind of pit that makes it feel like she’s been falling for hours. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m choosing to be here. With you.”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m not—” Peter cuts himself off, swallowing, his voice thick and riddled with emotion she’s too familiar with. When he looks at her, it’s not the same. Hasn’t been as of two weeks ago. “I’m sorry, Michelle. I know...I know you’re trying. We’re trying. It’s just hard.”_

_She nods, looks down, her toes curling against the chilly linoleum. “Do you think making it harder for me is making it easier on you?”_

_He shakes his head, doesn’t meet her eyes, but she wouldn’t want him to. They would just find themselves challenging each other. Again. “It’s not my intention.”_

_“You’re second-guessing everything.” Michelle blows out a breath, and it’s sad, winded. She thought they’d be able to continue as they were, knowing there was no lack of love between them, but now she’s unsure. “Questioning everything. Are you really asking yourself every time if it’s something I’m doing out of love or just tolerance?”_

_Peter inhales sharply, brings a finger up, swipes it underneath his eyes. He doesn’t answer her, instead says, “I gave the ring back to May. Yesterday. She wanted me to keep it just in case, but I figured there would be no point.”_

_“No point,” she echoes, cautious despite the ache, knowing if they’d had more time, if it wasn’t sprung up on her like it had been, maybe she could’ve been prepared. But they’re young, only twenty-four, and she’s never been more uncertain about anything in her life._

_“You already said no once,” he reminds her, distant, and she can practically feel the barrier he’s put up between them._

_“That doesn’t mean I’ll never...I’m just not ready, Peter. It has nothing to do with you,” Michelle says, frustrated. She loves him. Promised him her heart, but not in the form of a ring just yet, and it hurt them. Put a crack in their relationship that’ll take time to heal that she’s not sure they’ll allow._

_“And I understand. Trying to, at least. I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, looking away, eyes shining. “I love you, and I don’t want to just end this. But it’ll take me some time, okay?”_

_“Yeah,” she responds, quiet, and she lets him take her hand, lets him avoid her gaze, lets him stand there with an expression that looks less like love and more like a timer running out._  
  


* * *

  
Michelle is left with the responsibility of locking the bar up when they make it clear they’re not going to be leaving at closing time, but her boss trusts her and tosses over a spare key, wishing her a good night. She thanks him before looking at Peter, finds that he’s smiling into his beer bottle.

She shouldn’t be too surprised with how easy it was to fall into conversation with him again, telling Peter about her side-job writing of fluff pieces for a section of the Bugle, how she hates the work but the extra money helps with veterinarian trips for Maisie. She shows him a picture of her girl, sees the way his eyes light up before meeting hers again, and she knows he’s in love.

There’s a lot to talk about, but Michelle skims over most of it. Doesn’t bring up the fact that her parents decided not to sign their divorce papers, or that she’s had to relocate apartments because they had a no-animal policy, or that she’d met someone else, tried for a relationship that started from a hookup, and it didn’t work out. Especially not that.

Peter is good at listening, always has been, but he has the tendency to interrupt when something pertains to him, and Michelle brings up May. They both love his aunt, love her as a person, love that she never took sides.

He talks about May, that she was one of the biggest reasons he came back sooner than expected, and of course he missed his family. The missions that he went on aren’t brought up, but the vacant look in his eyes at times are enough for Michelle to understand. 

They eventually both trail off into silence, Peter finishing up his beer and asks, “What?” when he sees her staring, cheeks reddening.

Michelle merely shakes her head, almost laughs at the fact that they’re both sitting in a bar, retelling stories that the other has missed. And not in a funny way. In a ‘what could’ve been’ way.

They were almost married.

She should’ve known what she was getting into that night at May’s apartment. There was nothing subtle about it, unopened champagne bottles on the kitchen counter and party poppers lying on the bottom shelf of the pantry. 

Michelle is sure they were expecting her to say yes when he got on one knee, his aunt’s ring in one hand, Betty and Ned in the back preparing to snap a photo. And to be fair, so did she, not realizing her answer was no until it came out of her mouth.

It’s hard to think about now, the way their relationship spiraled, how they tried really hard to make it work and it just didn’t anymore. They’d agreed to remain friends, close enough to spend time together during a movie night but not close enough to tell each other how they felt, which lasted until he packed up and left for Upstate a month later.

“Nothing. I’m just thinking,” she responds, smiles half-heartedly, feels something heavy in her chest. “You almost done?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, swallowing the last of his drink before pulling out a twenty, sticks it in her tip jar. She snorts, and he grins into his palm. “For staying open an extra hour to talk to me.”

“Didn’t stay open,” Michelle says, jabbing her thumb towards the door with the neon sign that’s turned off. “Just stayed for you. The twenty bucks is what made it worth it, so thanks.”

Peter laughs, looking down at the counter, brows twitching and lips quirked. “I don’t know whether to be touched or insulted. But it’s you, so probably both.”

“Always.” Michelle meets his eyes for a second, feels her cheeks warm but chalks it up to the alcohol and the late evening air. She expects him to say goodbye, tell her maybe they’ll meet again soon, but he doesn’t make any move to leave even as she starts locking up.

“I was thinking,” he prompts eventually, fiddling with the buttons of his sleeves. “Maybe if you’re free sometime, you’d want to visit May? I’d, uh, be there, obviously, since I’m kind of staying with her at the moment, but—”

Michelle rolls her eyes, grabs her jacket and pulls it over her shoulders. “You say that as if I don’t already visit May on a weekly basis.”

“Oh.” He blinks but doesn’t seem surprised. “Well, of course you do, but...the invitation is still open...if you want to. It’s also open if you wanna bring your cat over. I’m offended I haven’t met her yet.”

She doesn’t answer right away, giving Peter’s expression enough time to open to panic, but before either of them say anything else, his phone goes off. She recognizes the alarm, knows it’s his police radar app that’s been self-programmed, and she knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“You have to go?”

“Duty calls,” he says, wincing slightly. “Just...let me know? Or surprise me. Whichever you want to do.”

“I’ll think about it.” Michelle doesn’t know what else to do, so she holds her hand out for a shake as if this were some sort of business transaction. His palm is warm but his fingers are cold as they curl around hers, linger with a light squeeze. “It was nice seeing you again, Peter.”

“You, too, MJ.” Peter swallows, glances down. His cheeks are faintly pink, and he’s shifting from one foot to the other, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something else but instead settles on, “Be safe going home. Or...else.” 

“I’ll take that threat into consideration.” She coughs out a quiet laugh, presses her lips into a small smile, closes the door behind them and locks it. He gives her one last look before heading off, hands in his pockets, no doubt that he’s wearing the suit underneath.

Michelle exhales a breath of foggy air before starting to walk home herself, knowing that whatever her relationship is with Peter, it has nowhere to go now but up after being at rock bottom for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter knows he’s overwhelming May with the stories of his time away if her half bewildered, half blank expression is anything to go by. He swipes a hand over his jaw, apologizes for talking too much, watches as she shakes her head and smiles wryly.

“No, you’re not. If anything, I’m used to it by now. Dealt with it for fourteen years straight and then some,” she jokes, the smile lines prominent now across her cheeks. Her hand smooths over his arm, reassuring. “I’m just thinking.”

“About anything interesting?” he asks, sits down, feels a sense of home every time it’s just them and two cups of caffeine. She likes coffee, but he doesn’t due to the bitterness that not even cream and sugar can quell. 

The tea that always used to be in his mug is something he can blame on someone else, but he took a break from caffeine for a while—only to go straight back to it the second he’s returned, like a bad habit he can’t shake.

“Of course,” May says, not elaborating. Instead, she gives him a curious look, but doesn’t elaborate on that either. He could ask what she’s thinking, but he doubts she’ll give him a straight answer. “You’ve met people. You’ve made friends while you were gone?”

“I did. I have.” Their travels weren’t all work, though Sam always teased him about being an ‘all work and no play’ kind of guy, and it made sense. Peter was a perfect example of throwing himself into the job, running from something, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

Maybe his trip to the hospital after an encounter with a familiar alien entity was a sign or fate telling him to take a break, to have a fresh start and let go, even if just for a little while. He’d never been more grateful for a couple of broken ribs. A happy accident, a chance meeting, or just misplaced luck on his side for once.

It gave him an opportunity to recuperate, to think about himself for a bit and to have some fun. Peter knew none of his future would be in that city, never mind that country, but his time there was a reprieve and a nice one at that.

The number in his phone is simply a permanent memory now, and it makes him smile in a fond way, but that feeling doesn’t come close to how he feels about finally being home again. It doesn’t even compare. 

“As long as you weren’t alone.” May gives him a wry pat on the shoulder as she stands up. “I know you’re close with Sam, Rhodey, Wanda...and whoever else. But it’s also nice to have someone who’s not in the same field that you are to talk to.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Peter knows May is a lot more aware of what goes on in the superhero business than he gives her credit for, which reminds him of the nagging guilt that's been built up in the back of his mind all this time. He wonders if it had been for nothing or if it had been rightful. “You’re not...mad that I left, are you?”

May’s brows crease, like she’s confused he’s even asking. She smooths his hair back as he rests his head against her sternum, and it feels as if he’s fifteen again, trying to figure out what’s right and wrong. “Of course I’m not mad. I’ve missed you, Pete, but you left because you felt that was necessary.”

“It did help,” he admits, knowing that what went down at the bar yesterday wouldn’t have been as smooth-sailing if he’d still held a grudge for two years. 

“And I’m glad you were able to come back happier because of it. Although.” She swats him lightly before walking towards the kitchen. “I’d be lying if I said you didn’t worry me, Peter Benjamin Parker, missing those weekly phone calls.”

“I mean, I came back in one piece? Aren’t you proud?” He follows her, leans against the doorway, sees the way she rolls her eyes and smiles. 

“You know I am.” May turns to the sink, starts running the water and rinsing dishes. He’s about to head up to his old room when she speaks again. “So, what does MJ want for dinner tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” Peter finds a slightly nervous laugh escaping. “Sorry, I thought you said MJ was coming for dinner tomorrow.”

May gives him a pointed look. “She said you invited her. I told her that she’s always welcome and that we’ll order something in.”

“I...yes, I did invite her.” In a spur of the moment, in a ‘it’s been so long and I’ve missed you in my life’ moment, but he didn't consider the consequences of his invitation until he was webbing a thug to a familiar brick wall and found himself thinking about her. It always happens during the most inopportune times.

Peter just thought he would have a week or two to prepare, or to regret his decision and call her to say something came up. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see her, knows that they’re adults and they’re past this by now, but it’s also impossible to ignore their history. 

“Is your silence code for ‘oh, why don’t you cook us something instead, May’—”

“Sorry. No, no, definitely not.” Peter pauses, cracks a smile at her narrowed eyes. “No offense. But, uh, Thai? We’ve always ordered Thai.”

“Thai it is.” She must notice his uneasy expression and her own softens just a bit. “I know it’s been a while, but you’ve both had time to heal now. You’re different people than you were.”

“We are,” he says quietly, but does it really matter when MJ is always going to be MJ at her core, someone he’s loved for so long. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Peter really tried hard not to think about Michelle often in the years he was gone, just to give himself space, but when May says, “I’m sure reconnecting will feel like learning how to ride a bike all over again,” he wonders if he really needs to relearn if he’s never forgotten in the first place. 

Muscle memory, they say, or something akin to that. He just doesn’t know if it applies to the heart.  
  


* * *

  
_“Pass the salt?”_

_“Who puts salt on their sandwich?” Peter asks, his expression is slightly teasing as he passes it over anyway, the corners of his mouth curling just a bit. He knows her too well, knows she likes to sprinkle it between the ham and the egg to give it that extra flavor. “Just know that I’m silently judging you.”_

_“You have no right to judge anything when you eat your cereal and drink your milk separately.” Michelle presses her foot against the curve of his, and his smirk softens. He can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows she’s won. He sighs dramatically, leans across her lap to grab an orange from the basket on the table before turning to rest his head on her knee._

_“Don’t push me off this time.”_

_“Don’t do anything dumb, and I won’t.” She brushes a palm across his cheek, Peter slowing the peeling of his orange to turn his face, sweeps a kiss to the spot between her thumb and forefinger._

_They’re settling back into a normalcy, though maybe it’s not so much normalcy as blissful ignorance. But they’ve been trying to move past what happened. It’s not as smooth-sailing as he would’ve liked—on his end where he can’t seem to let go of her rejection—but they’re civil enough. They’re still together, and in moments like this, they might even be okay._

_In a world where he didn’t propose, or she didn’t say no, the television is playing in the background, white noise. He watches Michelle as she takes a piece of her bagel, a slice of his fruit, pops them in her mouth. The juice is tangy, must burn the cut on her lip, but she reaches for another one just the same. He swats her hand playfully before gripping it in his._

_“Stop eating my orange, Em,” Peter says, and she does with reluctance. He hesitates briefly before giving her the rest anyway, grabbing himself a new one._

_Their Saturday evening is fading quickly, the red hues having already disappeared beneath the horizon line hours ago. And maybe they’re eating dinner late, but in all fairness, they had a lazy day._

_Lazy days are nice days when they don’t talk about anything important or relevant, content to just staying in bed or not moving five feet further from the couch. He knows tomorrow won’t be the same, that it will hurt the most, so he indulges in today selfishly._

_Peter thinks it’s moments like these that give him hope that maybe their relationship isn’t so irreconcilable. He knows of couples that have remained together after a proposal rejection that wasn’t due to any lack of love, and he wants that to be the case with them._

_Three months since, and they’re still holding on._

_“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” she asks, not looking down at him as her free hand tangles in his hair, and he closes his eyes._

_“Nine. Probably closer to 8:30, if I want to seem more prepared than I am. Don’t want them waiting on me.” He smiles slightly, and it’s not directed at her but it feels sad anyway. “I’m sorry that I won’t be...if I could stay—”_

_“You have to go,” Michelle reminds him with a wry expression as he sits up, and he knows this, knows he can’t just stay for her when people are counting on him. But just for a moment, he allows himself to think about what plans they could’ve had. “You’re going to go, Pete. It’s one day.”_

_“I know that it’s just one day, but…” He trails off, pressing his lips together hard enough that they could bruise. It’s one day, but it’s also more than that._

_“Even if you could stay...would you?” she asks, tentative, but there’s a knowing expression in her face that feels unfair. He frowns, pulls away from her slightly, and she lets him._

_“Why wouldn’t I?”_

_Michelle’s brows crease and she opens her mouth, closes it again and shakes her head. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, but now he does, even though it’s not going to change anything. He repeats his words, and she barely meets his gaze with yielding eyes. “It’s not a big deal, Peter.”_

_“Tomorrow is our anniversary, Michelle,” he reminds her, and she almost seems offended that he’s saying it like she’s forgotten. “Four years, somehow, and you don’t think I’d want to spend it with you?”_

_“Listen to you. Somehow?” She wets her lips and looks away, curls shielding her face. “You didn’t even think we’d make it this long, and I don’t blame you with how these past few months have gone, but you can’t blame me for—”_

_“For being shocked that I’d want to spend our anniversary together,” Peter finishes, his voice is chipped, like little pieces of emotion have been taken out, crushed slightly. He knows he can’t change the fact that they won’t be, but does she really think that of him? That if he had the choice, he’d choose not to be with her tomorrow?_

_“With the way you’ve been...with how we’ve been acting recently, yeah. This just isn’t our year to celebrate, Peter.” She shakes her head, blinks rapidly, and maybe she has a point, but the way she’s saying it now—out loud, coming to terms with it, bringing into light the fact that they haven’t been moving on as well as he’d been hoping. It strikes a nerve with him._

_“Michelle—”_

_“Look, it’s not that big of a deal,” she continues, swallowing. “It’s just one time, and there’s a fucking Chitauri alien invasion happening in Europe that should be more important to you right now—”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I mean, compared to everything else, it’s not a big deal,” he croaks, feeling his emotions bubble up in his throat, knowing they’re going to burst. “Why would it be? We’re only dating. It’s not...I don’t know. It’s not like we’re married.”_

_Michelle’s plate slips from her fingers, hitting the coffee table with a clang as she visibly recoils at his words. She blows a sharp breath out of her nose, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, before picking the plate up again._

_“If you want to keep throwing that in my face as if I don’t...maybe we shouldn’t even—” She cuts herself off and stands, a balled-up napkin balancing on her dish, and he can’t see her expression. Doesn’t deserve to. “You know what. Maybe it’s a good thing we’re spending our anniversary apart.”_

_When she walks away from him, into the kitchen, Peter leans forward with his head in his hands. From regret, from the fact that their months of progress have gone down the drain, from knowing that he won’t be able to stop bringing up old fights when he still feels this hurt—and now because of him, she does too._

_It makes Peter wonder if love is really enough for them, or if they’re dragging out something that was meant to come to an end the day she said no._  
  


* * *

  
“Hey.” She’s standing outside the doorway of the apartment with her arms wrapped around herself, a bottle of Merlot dangling precariously from the fingers of one hand. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t wrangle my plus-one into the carrier. She was being feisty today.”

“That’s a shame. She’s the only reason I invited you,” Peter says, his smile tentative like his tone, unsure if they’re comfortable enough to joke with each other, but her eye roll is familiar and it makes something in him settle. “Guess I’ll have to meet her some other time?”

But before Michelle has the chance to respond, her expression tinted in amusement, May pops her head around the corner. “MJ, hello! Come on in! Peter, let her in.”

“Oh, sorry.” Peter steps aside, Michelle brushing past him with the lingering scent of citrus and lavender following her. He blinks, swallows thickly, tries not to think about how she still uses the same shampoo after all this time because it’s such an irrelevant fact that his mind has latched onto.

His aunt brings her into the living room, and he lingers behind with the bottle of wine Michelle had pressed to his chest. He watches as they start talking about the student art exhibition that May had visited the other day, aware that he won’t get a word in but is content with listening.

Michelle’s eyes are bright with interest as she talks with May about art, a passion they’ve both shared and even bonded over through the years. Even more so when he was gone, he’s sure.

Peter knows that Michelle would love to open her own exhibition one day, if she had the time or money. He’s always liked listening to her talk about art, not that he would’ve understood half of what she'd told him if he didn’t immediately research it afterwards. But more importantly, he’s always liked the smile that it brought to her face when she talked about something she loves.

“Peter,” Michelle drawls, bringing him out of his daze as he snaps back to look at her. She’s staring at him with a half-confused, half-amused look on her face, and he suddenly feels self-conscious. “Figures you weren’t listening.”

“Sorry, I…” He trails off apologetically, at a loss for words. “I was thinking.”

“I’ll give you two some time to catch up. Probably order the food while I’m at it,” May eventually says, and he doesn’t miss her encouraging smile but more so opts to ignore it. When she leaves them alone, he can’t decide whether it’s better or worse, but it feels like Michelle is drilling holes through his skull with that gaze of hers—which definitely leans towards worse.

Peter rubs his clammy palms together before sitting down, and it reminds him far too much of the first time he’d ever had her over. Ten years later, and he still hasn’t gained any sense of decorum, just sitting with her here in silence.

“You said you were glad to be home,” Michelle eventually speaks up, giving him a reason to look at her. Her smile is slight. “But did you have...did these past few years treat you well?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I, um. I think they did,” he says with a quiet laugh despite feeling a wave of melancholy wash over him, knowing it’s only getting worse the more he looks at her and thinks about all he’s missed. 

But he knows if hadn’t left, hadn’t put space between them, they wouldn’t be able to sit here together like this now—as friends. They could have hated each other if they’d allowed it.  
  


* * *

  
_Peter knew that it wasn’t a good idea to come home to her in the state that he was in—jetlagged, exhausted, mind foggy as he tried to forget what it had been like to eliminate the aliens that touched down in Paris. It was gruesome and terrible, and there were casualties that he hadn’t known about until they were on the plane._

_No one told him—they said there was nothing that could have been done when he found out for himself, and they were right, but it didn’t feel like any less of a failure on top of everything else._

_It wasn’t ideal to come to her, especially when they’d left things the way they did, but Peter knew he was lucky enough to have someone to come home to at all. Even if she was mad, frustrated, upset, even if tonight would be their last, he thinks he’s lucky to have her. To have had her for the past four years._

_He knocks on the door to their own apartment, knows it’s three in the morning on the day after their anniversary and that she must’ve fallen asleep with the television on because it’s all he can hear. But then it switches off, footsteps padding across the floor, and she opens the door for him._

_“Hey.” He blinks, eyes burning, feels a tear slip down his cheek and isn’t surprised. She wordlessly pulls him into a hug, the same as she’s always done on his returning nights, and he grips her tightly. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”_

_And even though he doesn’t specify, Michelle must figure that it’s an apology for everything. It is, because he doesn’t know where to start._

_“I know,” she responds, quiet, smoothing her fingers through his matted hair, and he thinks it’s okay if she hasn’t forgiven him for anything. The only memorable thing he’s done at this point is come home._

_Peter knows that she cares if he’s alive, if he’s okay, but anything more than that is pushing it, and he doesn’t want to push her any further. They’ve already reached the edge of something, where there’s nowhere else to go, and if they tip over the precipice now, he’s not sure they’ll ever stop falling._

_Michelle asks how his mission went, but he can’t find the right words, can’t bring himself to tell her that it wasn’t worth missing their anniversary for. Not when there were as many casualties as there were, not when he’s wondering what good their team even did._

_She must realize that it was bad, and she squeezes his hand. But her expression makes him think there’s something else she wants to talk about but is withholding it. Maybe for his sake._

_If it’s the same thing he’s thinking of, he knows they’ve put this off for long enough. Two months of trying, only to end up here anyway._

_“MJ,” he eventually says, swallowing the lump in his throat just to get her name out. She glances down, and he finds himself holding off on the big question to ask a smaller question. “You didn’t spend yesterday alone, did you?”_

_“I spent it with May,” she responds, tentative, and he’s grateful for his aunt to keep her company. But he knows they’ll never have to go through this again, not if they get to the point they’re clearly both thinking about. “Peter...this probably isn’t the right time or place, but there’s something…”_

_Briefly, he wonders if Michelle talked with May about it. He thinks May must’ve known this was coming, but he isn’t sure for how long._

_“This...isn’t working, is it?” he asks, quiet and defeated, knows he doesn’t have to elaborate when her face crumples._

_“We—” Michelle cuts herself off, closes her eyes and recomposes herself. She swallows, shakes her head. “We tried, and we got this far, but I don’t think...if we keep continuing the way we are, it’s not going to matter.”_

_“I don’t want to keep fighting with you,” Peter says as he looks away from her. It’s just hard enough, even when he’s not staring her in the face, to come to terms with the fact that they’re finally in agreement but it’s over the idea of breaking up. “I’m just…”_

_He’s still hurt. Still holding it over her head._

_If Peter could help it, he would, but it’s resonated in him for a while, stemming from a rejection that he can’t seem to let go of. It’s unfair for both of them to keep going like this. He loves her, knows that she loves him, but it’s not enough._

_“I’m sorry,” she says, an apology she doesn’t need to make but does it anyway, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand._

_Peter can taste the salt when he licks his lips, and he nods, can’t quite look her in the eyes, knowing that if he does, he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing her expression mirroring his own. “Me, too.”_

_The clock strikes four, and neither of them move. He isn’t quite sure what to do now, knowing that their shared apartment isn’t going to be shared anymore. But it’s really late, or really early, and he doesn't want to handle the technical stuff right now. He can’t even think properly when she’s still in front of him._

_He goes to open his mouth, maybe to suggest that he can go stay with May for the night and they can figure the rest out tomorrow._

_But it only takes one moment of weakness for Peter to find the courage to meet her gaze, for them to hold it a moment too long. He wets his lips, watches the way she takes a hesitant step forward, eyes not leaving his. That’s all the encouragement he needs to latch onto her wrist, to pull her body against his, to kiss her like this is the last chance he’ll ever get._

_He channels every emotion he can muster when he kisses her, bites her bottom lip, slipping his tongue into her mouth and tasting the lingering wine she must’ve had that evening. Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, and it receives an unabashed moan out of him. He appreciates the way she’s not being gentle—it’s the best method to make him forget the day he’s had._

_Peter knows they weren’t planning this, but when Michelle pulls back, flushed and determined, he knows it’s going to happen anyway. His heart aches, and he wants her—is aware that he won’t be allowed to want her in any way after tonight, so he plans to make the most out of it._

_When she kisses him hard, guides him to the couch, it doesn’t take long for them to shed their layers. She lets him touch her everywhere and nowhere all at once, the look on her face saying she wants this to be memorable, like maybe it can cover up the ache of everything else._

_But he still feels it, the unmistakable pain of what tonight has turned into, and even when he starts thrusting up into her, he can feel the dampness of his cheeks as he buries his face in her neck._

_“Peter,” she says, breath hitching as he pumps his hips harder, her doing the same, both of them pushing each other off the edge and into the feeling of ecstasy. Their grips on each other tighten as if holding on will cushion their fall._

_But as he comes undone, he realizes there’s nothing in the world that could possibly make this any easier._

_Not when he realizes this is it for them and finds himself mumbling, “I love you,” against her skin anyway, when they collapse back together. Not when she whispers it back, presses a tender kiss to his brow, pulls the blanket over them. Not when they stay in each other’s arms for the rest of the night._

_The next day is when he feels the impact, Peter slipping out of the quiet apartment before the sun rises. He finds himself back at May’s apartment, knocking, and she answers the door almost immediately._

_His expression must give everything away because she pulls him inside, makes him a cup of chamomile tea, and lets him cry in her arms until he feels numb enough to tell her what happened._

_And when Peter admits that he and Michelle are done for good, out loud, it feels like a gut punch that took all of his air, and somehow it hurts more than when she’d rejected his proposal._

_Because, well, this time he’s really lost her._  
  


* * *

  
He almost tells her everything.

Peter knows he wasn’t expecting much of anything to happen when he returned home. He remembers the way they’d left things, how things had de-escalated from exes to friends with benefits—it was a tough couple of weeks—to friends that weren’t quite friendly.

And it felt terrible, Peter being aware how close she was, even if their relationship was distant. But even when he got the offer to leave with the Avengers, he was reluctant, barely ready for a change as big as leaving borough, never mind the country, with everything going on.

But then he’d talked to May, while she didn’t quite convince him, there were a few words that resonated with him. Take some space, wherever that may be, and let yourself heal. 

Peter talked to Sam a few days later and the next thing he knew, he was shipped Upstate, planning with the rest of them how to take down some guy named Korvac. He thought this was the best way to distract himself.

And that worked until it didn’t, but at that point, he’d found someone else who helped ground him. Not to a person, but maybe to himself. It gave him that extra push he needed, pulling his head out of the past, and it also gave him the motivation to come home.

May was ecstatic to hear it, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone else. She ended up doing it for him, which was a good thing looking back now.

He hasn’t had time to process much of what being back means, but at the very least, he’s relieved—relieved to be back home with May, relieved that he can now look at Michelle without feeling that familiar ache in his heart, relieved for a variety of reasons.

He doesn’t know if he’s still in love with her, or if he loves her just the same as he had before they were together, or if they’re simply just two people who have been sitting on the couch for hours, smiling at each other and recounting memories that the other has missed. 

But he knows he wants to tell her everything because at the very least, they’re friends, and at the very most, they’re friends in the right place at the right time, finally. He isn’t sure which end of the spectrum they fall on, but he knows they don’t have to figure it out immediately.

For now, Peter is content with Michelle sitting across from him with her pad thai in her lap, their knees occasionally knocking as he peels an orange for them to share. They’ve always been her favorite.

**Author's Note:**

> will this stay at 4 chapters? I hope so


End file.
